


Wanna share a ciggie?

by human_err0r



Category: Sex Pistols (Band)
Genre: Best Friends, Drug Addiction, Gay Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Nancy Spungen (mentionned), Nostalgia, Paul Cook (mentionned), Punk, Sid is messed up, Steve Jones - Freeform, a little sad tho, americantour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/human_err0r/pseuds/human_err0r
Summary: Sid wants to sneak out of the inn the band is staying at in Austin during their American Tour. Instead of escaping to get high like intended, he joins John in his room.
Relationships: Johnny Rotten/Sid Vicious
Kudos: 24





	Wanna share a ciggie?

**Author's Note:**

> Reading "12 days on the road" got me some feelings, this is what came out of it. I had loads of fun writing this, so I might just make more.

"Oi, Monk ?"

Propping himself up on the mattress of his single bed, Sid scanned the room, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. As if he could see anything in the darkness swallowing him whole. It could've been pretty late already, though he had no clue. All he could remember was, he must've passed out for a while, because drool had dripped down his chin and he felt all groggy.

"Monk? I wanna go out."

Another attempt at getting the lad's attention, but this call out fell just as flat as the previous one. Monk and him had adjoining rooms, probably some relief off Boogie's shoulders, shoving the job of stupid babysitting-like deed to someone else. Sid did not mind though; Noel Monk was a cool dude, the only one who seemed to accept talking to him after he had gone twice on a little rampage. A though guy, providing him Valiums and company. If he wasn't answering, then, it was most likely he had dozen off, or left. It couldn't be that he wasn't hearing him, they had settled to keep the door between their rooms open, at least a few inches. Quiet, the lanky boy waited. Silence was similar to a scream to his ears. Something was buzzing, or maybe it was just his head. Well, shit. What the hell was he even waiting for? What could possibly hold him back from getting out of here? This was the perfect opportunity, despite the tight throb in his guts whispering it would be equal to break some sort of trust. But guilt was not strong enough. Not stronger than the need to shoot up.

With a grunt, Sid sat up, the bed creaking under him at the sudden change of weight. Slowly, his eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness. He could distinguish the bedside table where he had carelessly thrown a pack of cigarettes and a magazine he stole from Paul's stuffs. Probably just to annoy him, because he hadn't even given it a glance. The curtains were drawn, obscuring the room a little more. Once he was fully aware of his surroundings, he jumped to his feet, blindly grabbed his leather jacket and a pair of shoes lying under the turned-off heater. Now that he was paying attention, he could hear slow breaths, that could turn to snores, from the other end of the room. Yeah, Monk was asleep. And wouldn't need to know about his escape, he'd be short and back before sunrise. That was, without getting lost. Doing his best to be as discreet as possible, he sneaked out of the room. Bad idea that he had been giving time to his sight to get used to everything being pitch black; the lights of the inn's corridors immediately made his head pound.

Eyes closed tightly, Sid leaned his back against the nearest wall, one hand lifting to meet with his forehead. His nose was soon pressed against the bandage wrapped around his wrist, one that Monk had prepared a few hours ago after almost burning his forearm with damn Mercurochrome. It still smelled like the bitchy liquid, mixed with something else. Something he couldn't identify yet. It was easy for his anxiety to skyrocket, for his mind to go wild and get the worst scenarios. What if his flesh would rot and fall off? That he'd die from an infection a wound he had himself inflicted to his own body?

"You're gonna be fine, Sid." That was what Monk said. But how could he know shit about that?

Pain was similar to a wave; eventually, it started to die down, and soon, was just an old memory. His eyes opened again, and the light wasn't so unbearable anymore. No one was out, the corridor leading to the reception desk was empty. Just a few rooms to walk by, said desk to cross, then he'd be out and free in the night. He couldn't believe how easy it all sounded. How he had been left with no surveillance again. It shouldn't be surprising, should it? One way or another, he'd always manage to slide between their fingers. That didn't mean he had no remorse. Actually, he felt bad for doing that every damn night. But it wasn't his fault. He needed it. He needed the crack. The adrenaline. In the end, he was a slave. A slave of this cruel, vivid, sick addiction. When he was with no one but Nancy, he couldn't see the side effects, the bad it would spread. She was in the same situation as him, and they were fine like that. But away from her, in a whole other country, with his supposedly mates, who he was working with... There was a different view to the lifestyle he had settled into what seemed like ages ago. His behaviour was starting to irritate everyone, he could feel it. It came to the point it was easier to chat with the bus tour driver than with the guys from his band. John was the least reachable. The glares, the insults, it turned into an endless routine. Most of the time, he wouldn't reply anything. Sometimes, he'd spit on the ground, flip him off or return the dirty words. It was no fun, really. Yet, it was his life now. He couldn't do much about it. Sighing, a sign of resignation, he dropped the boots on the floor and lazily slipped them on. That done, he put his jacket on and started walking down the corridor. Only a few seconds later, his pace lowered, ears catching a familiar voice tinted with obvious anger and frustration. Being John's friend for years, it was simple to recognize him, even behind closed doors. Eventually, Sid came to a stop, standing still in front of the right door.

"...can't handle this circus anymore. We're running in circles. It's going fucking nowhere, you know that, I know that, everyone knows that. And then, there's Sid, useless Sid who can't play shit."

There again. A new insult. It wasn't the first time his pal was calling him useless, but for a reason, it hurt this time. It wasn't directly to him that Johnny had said that, but to someone else. It gave a whole other level of honesty to it, one Sid didn't like. Maybe that was why he decided, uninvited and out of the blue, to push on the latch and to bluntly step inside the room, before anything else could be said about him. Weakly, he stumbled to his feet, but was quick to get a hold of himself. Indeed, John was not alone, Steve was with him; the former standing by the open window opposite him, the latter appearing by his side. There was no animosity in the way they were behaving, but it was clear there had been some non-physical fight in here. Sid didn't check Steve for a very long time, glancing quickly in his direction right when he huffed and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes found Johnny, and he knew he was pissed just by the look on his face; jaw clenched, body tensed up, all stiff. Slightly flushed with exasperation.

"Oh, amazing, just what we needed. Hello, Mr. Drug. Wot is it, this time, hmm?"

"Fuck off."

Sid hated that nickname. It was not fair how easy it could slip out of John's throat like that. How unbothered he sounded, to call his friend like that, reducing him to a fucking junkie. Oh, but that was what he was. A fucking junkie.

"Whatever, John. I'm gonna kip. I don't have anything more to say to you."

The spiky haired bassist didn't give any ounce of attention to Steve as he walked out without minding closing the door behind him. The room brutally got filled with thick silence, John staring at Sid from the other side. Sid stumbled a bit, uneasy when exposed to those piercing eyes. So intense, so beautiful... Once, they could be so warm, but right now...yeah, right now, they were icing cold, as if he was trying to freeze him on the spot or something, or make him disappear. It lasted a long, way too long time. Sid barely able to hold the powerful gaze. It must've meant something. Perhaps an invitation to go out and follow Steve's steps? That was all he had wanted to do, and yet... Now that he was here, now that he was alone with his long-time friend, he had no wish to step out of that. It had been a while, during this tour there were few opportunities for them to have some private time. It might just be out of luck that John wasn't yelling at him yet. Instead, the ginger rolled his eyes and slumped on his bed, which was the exact size Sid got. A single bed, still he could just fit in beside the other who was crossing his arms under the back of his neck for some support. He wasn't looking at him anymore. Truth be told, Sid preferred a cold stare than ignorance. Slowly, he closed the door and shyly stepped further into the room, while keeping his distance from the bed. John would definitely not break the awkward silence, he rarely would.

"Wot was it with Steve?"

The question was risky, he was aware of it. Given how mad John looked, it would be unlikely he'd get any constructive answer.

"Weren't you eavesdropping?"

No gaze towards his direction as he replied in a new tone, less angry, more bored.

"Nuh. Don't give a shit wot you were talking 'bout."

"Then why d'you ask?"

"Dunno."

That rose a scoff from John's end, who had somehow decided the ceiling was much more interesting than looking at Sid, who was both utterly confused and bitterly, strangely sad. There had been fights between the two of them. Violent ones, but they were always followed by forgiveness, and a better understanding of each other. That was how they worked; a crisis had to happen once in a while, and afterwards, it would all settle down. But lately, it was like something was off. Like it wasn't settling down anymore. Like they were always on edge. A never-ending loop of glares and slurs.

"You're trying too hard, Sid-nay."

Sid replied nothing, watching the ginger's chest slowly rise and lower at the rhythm of his breath. He missed him. Standing there, so close yet so far, he missed him immensely. It would be easy to reach out for him; show him he was sorry for the wrong turn their situation took. Not so long ago, his mind would be constantly haunted by this same lad, lying peacefully on the bed. Needy for his acceptance, for his smiles and glances. He wanted to find all of this again. If time machines were real, he'd go back to when he didn't realize how lucky he was to hold John and claim him his. Maybe there was still hope. Not to get back to what they used to be, but perhaps to calm things down a bit.

"Move yer ass."

Sid did not wait for his friend to fume, he joined him, lying down next to him on the mattress. Noticing how small it truly was when their shoulders collided. Right side pressed against left, eyes avoiding to meet, both pretending it wasn't a big deal to be this physically close again. Sid's heart was beating fast in his ribcage. Hopefully, it wasn't loud enough for the other to hear.

"Wanna share a ciggie?" John asked after a few minutes of absolute lull. It surprised Sid, but of course, he accepted.

For just a little while, it felt like they were back to the flat they were sharing together. Sucking the smoke in, exhaling it through nose and mouth seconds later. Each damn time Sid would take a drag, he could practically taste John's lips that had been wrapped around the end of the lit cigarette. How many times had they done this? Stayed still, smoked and overwhelmed by each other's presence. Some times, Sid would snuggle up against the chest of his Johnny, others, he'd end up leaning into him and kissing him with unrepressed passion. Tonight, he couldn't do anything. Couldn't dare to try anything towards his friend. Heavens knew he wanted it so bad.

"Keep it. Don't drop it."

There was not much left, but Sid appreciated the gesture. Thoughtfully, he let his teeth graze against the tobacco paper. The buzzing that had been bothering him in his room was back, banging loudly at his ears and brain. He hated that silence, and the empty words they had been reduced to share. There was a lack of meaning. A lack of proximity. It was scary, but maybe if he wanted to find that back again, he'd have to expose himself. Expose his thoughts he had learned to shut. There should be no fear when being with Johnny, though he was never certain the guy would not stand up and disappear for good. 'Nuh, he wouldn't do that. He's always coming back. My Johnny. Always coming back to me.'

"'M sorry." He finally blurted out, although he didn't really know what he was apologizing for.

John did not answer, so he continued.

"Dunno, it's my fault, I'm stupid and I can't play. Everyone's right 'bout me anyway."

Just when he thought it was a lost cause, when he was considering that maybe it would be better to leave the room, Sid's plain view on the ceiling was suddenly blocked by John's beautiful face, leaning over him. His blue eyes glowing with... Were they tears? Was his Johnny on the verge of crying, and what for?

"Stop saying shit like that. You're so dense, Sidney, always saying amen to wot everyone tells you like a fucking pussy. Get your shit together and wake up, for fuck's sakes, you can be who the fuck you wanna be!"

Now, John was using his harsh voice, however Sid knew it meant to do no harm. It was just his way to tell him to shut up about those kinds of stupidities. That made him smile, genuinely, happily, warmth spreading through his entire self.

'John still cares. He still loves me.'

This was nicer than anything he could've hoped for. First intention used to be getting out of that stupid inn to get good stuff, he found something better, more precious to his heart. A friendship. An act of true, unconditional love conveyed through care and honesty. And Johnny... Johnny was so close. The need to touch his bright, orange hair was irrepressible. Careful, he lifted one hand up until his palm rested on the sweaty back of his neck. Feeling his skin under his fingertips had him gulp and blush. He missed this. He missed him entirely.

"You stink."

Violently, Sid burst into laughter, the cigarette almost slipping from his other hand. Always so funny, his Johnny. Always saying the right thing to set up his mood.

"So do you."

"Fuck off."

"Kiss me."

A demand he wouldn't have the guts to utter a few minutes ago, yet there he was. Watching John rise an eyebrow as he stayed up there, almost on top of him because of the size of the bed not holding up for two. If there was some trace of hilarity on his mate's face, it had suddenly disappeared, giving more space to the apparent sadness in his captivating orbs. Why was he so upset? What was the reason for it? Sid didn't wait for the ginger to depart from him and did what he himself asked, arms tight around John's thin body as he sat up and pressed their lips together. It did not last long, and if it only came to his choice, he would've gone further, but he was quickly pushed away. His back hit the mattress, a groan escaped his throat. He couldn't even flash a glance at John; his friend had lied back down, turned around so Sid could not see his face. Could not see the tears that had started to prickle down his eyes.

The cigarette was wasted, nothing to drag from it anymore. Sid crushed it lazily on the bedside table, then reluctantly focused back on the boring white ceiling.

John had pushed him away. But it was alright, because, just for a few seconds, he had kissed back.


End file.
